Do you love me?
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Isobel calls Richard up in the middle of the night, with a particular question in mind. Season 4 AU.


**Anyone who has seen _Three Colours: Blue _will know what a rip-off I am. This is for Daalny, as a thank you (of course you didn't let me down).**

She picked up the receiver with a decisiveness that she very seldom applied to anything any more. It belonged to her old life. She heard the voice of the operator on the other end and cleared her throat quietly before she replied.

"Put me through to the hospital cottage, please," she asked, "Yes, for Dr. Clarkson. Yes, this is Crawley House."

She listened for a moment as she was connected and then heard the telephone ring at the other end. She waited. She knew that he would hear, and that he would pick up eventually. The telephone was positioned near the stairs so it could be heard on the first floor, it was necessary in case he was needed in the middle of the night.

"Hello," she heard his gruff, sleepy voice at the other end, "Dr. Clarkson speaking."

He probably thought it was some sort of an emergency. For a moment only, she hesitated.

"Richard."

"Isobel," his voice changed immediately, renewing her confidence, softening audibly, still unchecked by his sleepiness, "Are you alright?"

"Richard, do you love me?"

There was a dead silence. She asked so plainly that the implication was that she was stating a fact. Listening for any sound, she thought he might be holding his breath. The silence seemed to continue infinitely and more than once she considered that he had simply hung up the telephone.

"Yes. Yes, I love you."

There was no note of reluctance in his voice when it came, only final, final admittance. She paused only for a moment before speaking, but it was not for want of decision.

"Come here," she told him, "Now."

"To you?" again, his voice was different. Almost trembling but managing to stay level.

"Yes," she replied simply, "If you love me."

She put the receiver down abruptly. She knew she did not need to say any more. She knew he would come; she need only to wait. Turning sharply away from the telephone, she surveyed the hallway unseeingly. In another world she would have felt the need to ready herself, but she was ready, she not ready for anything more than she was ready for this.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror. A childless widow in black silk. For the first time in months, she saw herself, took in her appearance. She thought she looked drawn, ill almost. It surprised her. She wondered what he saw in her. But she knew he would come.

Calmly, she walked back into the sitting room, surveying the dwindling fire in the grate, the darkness at the end of the room where the night shone in through the window. She moved dispassionately to draw the curtains. She would block out the darkness. When she heard the knock on the door, she was stoking the fire a little, the poker in her hand.

"It's open," she called in reply.

She knew it was him and when he followed the direction of her voice into the room he did not remonstrate her for her laxity in leaving it unlocked. Now would not be the moment. They stood across the room from one another, looking at each other.

"Take your coat off," she told him quietly, but firmly, "I need you."

He did not say a thing, just raised his hands to his throat to remove his scarf, discarding it on the floor before he did the same with his coat.

She watched him calmly, her hands by her sides.

"And the rest," she told him.

He complied mutely.

"You'll do anything I ask, won't you?" she asked him.

His fingers were undoing the collar of his shirt.

"Yes," he told her, before pushing his shirt off his arms and letting it fall onto the carpet with the rest, "Of course."

She took a step towards him. He was not wearing a vest, she could see his bare chest. She smiled, softly, taking him in.

"You've a very fine figure, Richard," she told him gently, "In fact you're quite magnificent."

She reached out and touched him, resting her fingertips against the soft hair of his chest. She felt him shudder against her.

"Isobel," he murmured, looking at her face, his eyes never leading hers, though hers evaded him, "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am," she replied, looking up at him, "Of course."

She touched his cheek. Moved so that her body was closer to his. She heard his breath, shallow and uneven as she leaned towards him and kissed his lips. Impossibly slow at first, the movements of their lips built and built, drawing becoming more carnal with every movement of lip over lip, every gasp.

She held his face carefully between her hands and their foreheads rested together. His hands gently cupped her elbows, drawing her closer to him.

"Let me take you upstairs, Isobel," he murmured, "Please, let me. Let me do things for you-... Let me-..."

He was murmuring into her jaw as she nodded.

He took her by the hand and led her towards the stairs, and she followed him, watching his body.

As soon as her bedroom door was shut behind them, she began unbuttoning the front of her dress. He watched her, mesmerised, as she shook her dress off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground as he had done with his clothes, standing there before him in a black lace brassiere, black knickers and black stockings. She saw his eyes darken, say him cross the room, knowing that there was fire in his blood before she felt the heat of his skin on hers as he picked her up, lifted her of her feet, embracing her, carrying to the bed and covering her body with his.

He was good to his word. He did everything she asked of him. He kissed her. He made love to her with his mouth. He took away her pain. He removed the rest of their clothes and slipped his body inside hers, and made love to her again.

He lay with her, their bodies shaking, still intimately joined, holding her tightly. And he told her what she wanted and need to hear;

"I love you, Isobel. I love you."

She knew she had said it; that it had slipped out in a frantic gasp as their bodies moved together. But she closed her eyes, and waited for them to flicker open again.

"I love you too, Richard."

**End.**

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